


Fit

by WellSchitt



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Class Differences, DJL Park Prompt, DJL UC&P Prompt, Disapproving Family, Family Drama, Light Angst, M/M, Meet the Family, Romantic Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 14:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellSchitt/pseuds/WellSchitt
Summary: “Do you... see it? See them, I mean? Like, do you get them, get how they fit as a couple?”Stevie blinked up at him, shoulders suddenly tense, and didn’t answer.“Not that- I’m sure your friend—David—I’m sure David is a great guy. I hadn’t met him before this weekend, but he seems great.” None of the seven Brewer cousins had met David before this weekend, actually. It was part of why the situation didn’t sit well with Michael. Everyone else’s spouses had at least come for a long weekend at some point, enduring an informal but rigorous vetting process over Aunt Marcy’s chicken parmesan.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd/OC, kind of - Relationship, they flirt a little - Relationship
Comments: 48
Kudos: 675





	Fit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late to this prompt, but since I was actually at the Vegas UC&P, I really wanted to write one <3
> 
> Yes this is an OC POV, but I promise that's just an excuse for my Patrick feels.
> 
> Podfic by GoLBPodfic! Thank you so much, dear!! First time anyone's done one for any of my fic <3 <3 <3

Michael Brewer paced, smoking, in the small park adjacent to the synagogue, trying to put a finger on why he was so anxious about all this—why he’d felt awkward and uptight throughout the rehearsal dinner, the world’s tamest bachelor party (baseball and beer at the town’s decrepit rec center), and then the morning spent getting ready and brunching with the whole Brewer clan at a truly awful cafe across the street from David’s store.

(It was David’s store, in Michael’s mind. He didn’t see much of Patrick in the old-timey lettering or the neat rows of organic, pretentiously-named beauty products.)

He’d tried to get into the spirit of things, he really had, but Michael couldn’t shake his looming sense of unease. He wished, not for the first time, that he’d kept in better touch over the past two and a half years. He wished he’d _made_ Patrick talk to him back then. He hadn’t even tried, too hurt that Patrick up and moved without so much as a goodbye. It had only been six months since his divorce at that point; he was barely getting back on his feet, with Patrick and the rest of the family’s help, so Patrick’s sudden absence felt like another abandonment.

They’d texted some over the years, meaningless updates about the store and Michael’s shitty boss and what the kids were up to—Patrick sent presents religiously for Christmases and birthdays—but nothing meaningful. Nothing like the long, meandering conversations they used to have.

Michael had blamed Patrick for the distance between them, and resented him for it, right up until he finally called a few months ago, out of the blue, and explained about David.

Apparently when someone comes out as gay, you’re obligated to forgive them for a lot of shit.

Two months after that, Patrick had called again, this time to ask him to be his best man.

Michael was almost down to the filter when he noticed David’s best woman, Stevie, coming towards him from the synagogue. She had a bottle of wine clutched in one hand, and looked very pretty in her elegant black dress.

Hell, she’d looked very pretty yesterday in jeans and a flannel shirt.

“Hey,” he greeted her, standing up straighter, because Patrick had told him last night—with a wry smile, in response to his entirely unsubtle fishing—that Stevie was single. “Everything going ok in there? No runaway grooms?” Uncle Clint had been in with Patrick when he left, but he’d been gone awhile now.

“Um, they're fine. But Alexis sent me to tell you that we’ve got to be in the dressing rooms in half an hour, before the guests start showing up.” Her tone was short, almost unfriendly, but her eyes caught on his cigarette.

“Want one?” he asked politely, pulling the box out of his pocket. He needed to remember to put it and his phone in the car or something before the ceremony began. David had told them all at least four times at the rehearsal that anything in their pockets would ruin the lines of the suits.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” She gave him an appraising look as she took the proffered cigarette and sat on an uncomfortable-looking bench beside him. Apparently she didn’t feel the need to explain the bottle of wine, which she set gently on the ground.

“Sorry if I should have been helping with anything in there. I just needed a break from all the hand wringing.” He held up the lighter for her.

“No, they’re pretty much done decorating. Alexis and Jocelyn got a lot done last night.” Her mouth tilted up around the cigarette as she leaned in to light it. “And if you’re looking for sympathy, you’re asking the wrong person.”

“So I take it David’s not exactly zen either, eh?”

“Put it this way, I don’t usually smoke.”

Michael smiled at that, and took a risk. “Funny, after that relaxing rehearsal yesterday, I wouldn’t have pegged David as the high-strung type.”

She snorted inelegantly and took a deep drag. It felt companionable for a moment, the best man and best woman ragging on the overwrought couple, and he thought maybe he _could_ have a chance with her after all, if he played his cards right.

“Listen, can I ask you something weird?” _Wait, no! Shut up, shut up, that’s definitely not the right card!_

“Uh… sure, I guess.”

“Do you... see it? See them, I mean? Like, do you _get_ them, get how they fit as a couple?”

Stevie blinked up at him, shoulders suddenly tense, and didn’t answer.

“Not that- I’m sure your friend—David—I’m sure David is a great guy. I hadn’t met him before this weekend, but he _seems_ great.” None of the seven Brewer cousins had met David before this weekend, actually. It was part of why the situation didn’t sit well with Michael. Everyone else’s spouses had at least come for a long weekend at some point, enduring an informal but rigorous vetting process over Aunt Marcy’s chicken parmesan.

Not that it had done much good in his case, of course.

“They just seem, um, kind of different? I mean, when Josie and Anna asked him what hockey team he supports, he said figure skating.”

Michael tried play it off as a big joke, but it fell flat. He sounded exactly as worried as he felt.

God, why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? He didn’t have a problem with David, he honestly didn’t. But he just... couldn’t see it. And he knew first hand that divorce absolutely sucked the life out of you.

“You’re worried that David and Patrick aren’t good together... because of... hockey?” She said it like he was some kind of moron.

_You are some kind of moron: you brought this up with her in the first place._

He stamped his cigarette out. “It’s not about hockey, obviously, it’s…”

But it kind of _was_.

Patrick had played hockey every winter when they were kids, and had even been on the JV team in high school before deciding to focus on a trying for a baseball scholarship. He still followed the Leafs religiously.

More importantly, though, Patrick didn’t grow up in the lap of luxury. He hated shopping, and he didn’t get mani-pedis or use expensive product in his hair. He didn’t understand fashion or art, and he didn’t say things like ‘exfoliating pink Himalayan salt scrub’ or ‘monochromatic art nouveau aesthetic.’

It was pointless to fret now, though—it was far, far too late to say anything to Patrick. It was too late to say anything to _anyone_, including David’s beautiful friend who was glaring up at him through her sexy smokey-eyed makeup.

_If you’d been there for him, you could have talked to him about all this before he proposed._

He smiled awkwardly at Stevie and shrugged. “I’m sorry, this isn’t- I shouldn’t be- this is the bitter divorcé in me coming out. Weddings do that. Ignore me. You can, uh, you go ahead, and I’ll be in in a minute.”

Frowning, she started to leave, but stopped after a couple steps. For a moment he thought she was about to tell him off, but instead she asked, “Actually, um, do you have a corkscrew? Patrick said you probably would, and I think Mrs. Rose stole mine.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, there’s one on my leatherman. Here.” He took the bottle from her, hoping this was a sign that she wasn’t too angry with him. The last thing anyone needed was for her to tell Patrick’s fiancé about this. For good measure, he added, “And listen, I _am _sorry, alright? It’s not about David. It’s just, Patrick and I, we used to be really close, and I- I want him to be happy, is all.”

“You used to be close, as in... you’re not anymore?” she asked, stamping out her cigarette half-smoked. “You’re his best man.”

“Yeah, no, we are. I guess we’re close. We haven’t talked much, though, since he moved here.”

There was an uncomfortable silence while he struggled to peel the foil from the top of the bottle.

“When you said it was a weird question, I was expecting you to ask if David’s sister is single. Not, like, whether you should object at the wedding.” She paled. “Which, to be clear, you should _not_ do. That would not be a good day for any of us, David would lose his-“ she stopped abruptly. Then she said, in a different tone, “David is… um. You’re not exactly seeing him at his best, with the wedding and all. But if you get to know him a little...” she trailed off with an ambiguous gesture.

He avoided her eyes by working the corkscrew into the cork. “No, of course. I didn’t- it’s more about Patrick, to be honest. After everything with Rachel, I… you know what, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Forget I said anything.”

“So you were friends with Rachel?” Stevie sat on the bench again, apparently not running away after all.

“Well, yeah, we all grew up together. But that’s not- I was _relieved_ when they called off the wedding. We all were.” He handed her the wine and she took a swig from it immediately, straight from the bottle. For some reason, he found it ridiculously hot. Clearing his throat, Michael overshared to cover his blush. “But I remember talking to Patrick about why he kept going back to her, right? What he saw in her. And there was the usual stuff, she’s smart and nice and they had so much in common—yeah, including sports—but he also really liked that Rachel was, um, easygoing. And that she didn’t wear a ton of makeup, spend a lot of time on her hair, that kind of thing. He liked that she was low maintenance, I guess.” It was probably too late to try to be tactful about this, but he left the implication about David unspoken.

“Ok, but Patrick is gay.” She took another large swig of wine. “I mean, I haven’t talked to him much about what that was like for him, dating a woman for so many years. But I know that whatever, uh, attraction he felt for her was pretty much... theoretical? So it makes sense that he wouldn’t notice her makeup or hair or whatever. But when David tries a little too- uh, when David does that stuff, I think it’s different, you know?”

She still didn’t make to leave and the mood between them felt less charged, now, so he lit up another cigarette.

“Yeah, that- you’re right, of course that makes sense, that it would be a whole different ball game. And don’t get me wrong, it was obvious to all of us that he and Rachel didn’t fit… but, god, he _still _almost married her. Rachel never really understood him—and I don’t just mean the fact that he’s gay, but also, like, he’s _gay_, for Christ’s sake—and yet, he still proposed. He almost went through with it.” Michael blew out a long plume of smoke, realizing that he’d hit the heart of the matter, the thing that was really worrying him. “Did you know Rachel was the first girl he ever dated?” He glanced at Stevie, hoping the next thing he said wouldn’t make her angry again. “And now there’s David. The first guy he’s ever dated.”

Fuck, he just wanted Patrick to be happy and to be able to be himself, not the person some girl—or guy—wanted him to be.

Stevie was quiet for a long moment before she said, “There’s a baseball cake in there.”

“What?”

“There’s a stupid, kitschy, baseball-themed cake, in Blue Jays’ colors, as a surprise for Patrick. And David _hates_ it. Mind you, the cake looks nice, he hired a great baker—but it doesn’t matter, he can barely stand to look at it. Like, he told the photographer to only photograph it while they’re cutting it, because if he _has_ to remember that cake, he wants to remember stabbing it.” She grinned. “I can’t wait for Patrick to smash a piece in his face.”

“Ok…”

“Also? I tried to play Monopoly with them once. They fought for twenty minutes over who got to be the bank. Patrick won the argument, but then David won the _game_, so they both ended up sulking for three days. It was almost a year ago, but if you ask them about it, I guarantee it will still cause a fight.”

He smiled. “That sounds like Patrick. Stubborn as hell, and a sore loser.”

She nodded. “And they’ve, uh, they’ve built their store from the ground up. Which means that they spend, like, _all_ their time together. But David still misses Patrick when he’s away for more than twelve hours. He whines about it the whole time.” She drank more wine; she was making her way through the bottle alarmingly quickly. “And they’re both such nerds. Seriously. They both claim to _prefer_ nonfiction, the pretentious fucks.”

“Yeah, alright. I get what you’re saying. Thank you.” He actually did feel better. “I’ve been known to be a tad overprotective. He’s, um. He’s like a little brother to me.”

She looked him in the eye. “Well, David would do anything for Patrick. And Patrick basically worships the ground David walks on.” She stood to go back inside, somehow entirely steady on her feet. “They fit. Spend some more time with them and you’ll see it, too.”

—

At the reception, the bridal party was seated at a semicircular table at the front of the room with Michael on the left, then Patrick, David, and Stevie on the other end. Michael got out of his own head enough to really observe Patrick and David together—mostly Patrick, because he could read his cousin like a book.

He couldn’t hear David at all over the music, and only caught bits and pieces of what Patrick said: a steady stream of giddy laughter and “oh God, I’m so sorry about my dad” and “stop it, you look beautiful” and “think anyone would notice if I duck under the table for awhile?”

_Jesus, Patrick. _He stopped trying to eavesdrop after that, wishing he could move to the other side to sit by Stevie.

God, though, Patrick looked happy.

—

After the meal, David’s sister took the microphone to announce that the grooms were going to exchange their wedding gifts before they cut the cake. Patrick looked panicked for a second—clearly he hadn’t read the damn program, and therefore didn’t realize this was going to be a public exchange—but Michael had his shit together, and handed over the bracelet.

It was gold, to match David’s rings, and had ‘A lifetime of promises’ etched inside. David’s lip wobbled as he put it on and whispered, “Mine isn’t as nice.”

“Hey, I’m sure it’s fine,” Patrick soothed.

“Shut up, he’s going to love it,” Stevie said from behind David, pushing a large, flat, rectangular present forward.

Patrick ripped off a large strip of wrapping paper and stopped, staring at the gift. Michael could see over his shoulder that it was a large framed black and white sketch, a landscape.

“It’s, um. It’s the view from Rattlesnake Point. Where Patrick proposed,” David said, and Alexis repeated it into the microphone for the guests.

“David, did you _draw_ this?” Patrick held the frame up so people could see it, but his eyes were glued to his husband’s face.

“Mm hmm. It’s charcoal. I used to be pretty good at it, but I’m out of practice-”

“No, it’s beautiful, but when- how did you-”

“I went back up there, on my days off. It didn’t take very many sessions, it’s- it’s not very detailed or anything-”

“Shut up,” Patrick said harshly, setting the drawing down carefully before dragging his husband into a hard, rough kiss, so suddenly that David had to brace his hand on the table or he’d have been in Patrick’s lap.

The guests laughed and applauded raucously—except Alexis, who said “Ewww, Patrick!” into the microphone with a visible shudder.

Michael caught Stevie’s eye, and she pretended to vomit on them.

Patrick and David didn’t seem to notice any of it. David was still trying to protest something, but Patrick growled, “Shut up, shut up, you went on a hike _by yourself_-” and then he was kissing David again, a kiss that quickly got more than a little inappropriate, if only because Michael was _right there_ and could see how much their hands were wandering.

“Four hikes,” David said breathlessly when Patrick finally let him go. The kissing had gone on long enough that Alexis tactfully redirected the crowd’s attention to the open bar and the coffee available at the buffet table.

Michael couldn’t see Patrick’s face, but he heard the tears in his cousin’s voice when he said, “And this is a _very_ solid frame.”

—

Michael didn’t get a chance to pull David aside before the dancing began again, so he cut in during a slow song.

David looked surprised and flustered when he stepped into his space. So did Patrick, dancing with Josie a few feet away. He quirked an eyebrow. Michael shrugged at him.

“Oh, um. Hi, Michael,” Patrick’s new husband said, his hands flapping awkwardly. They were about the same height, but Michael ended up with his hands on David’s waist out of habit. David’s hands came to rest hesitantly on his shoulders. “Um. Thank you again, so much, for coming. I know it means a lot to Patrick, that you and your other cousins came- and that you agreed to be his best man. Um. Obviously.”

He made it sound like Patrick hadn’t been sure Michael would say yes, or hadn’t been sure that the cousins would come at all, which was… it was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? That had to be coming from David, not Patrick, Michael decided. Patrick knew better. They'd practically grown up as siblings, the eight of them. And besides, Patrick had been his best man—and would be again, if he ever remarried.

“Of course we came,” he said, frowning. He looked at Patrick, but he was facing the other way on the dance floor. Josie scrunched her brow at him curiously over his shoulder. “It’s a shame we didn’t get to spend more time together, though.”

“Right. Sorry. I know all the wedding kept you both too busy to catch any fish.” David said, and there was definitely something uncertain and tentative about him right now, very unlike the man whose instructions at the rehearsal dinner had been delivered like royal decrees. “Um, Patrick said that’s something you two used to do a lot? Fish… catching?”

Michael bit the inside of his cheek against a smile. “I meant you and I, actually. I wish we’d gotten to hang out a little, get to know each other.”

“Oh,” David said softly, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you go fishing,” Michael joked, and David’s hands relaxed a bit on his shoulders. “But I talked to my folks and Aunt Marcy, and we’re all hoping you’ll come for Thanksgiving this year? Or maybe even Christmas? We do a big thing for Christmas most years.”

“Yes!” David said with a startling enthusiasm, then blushed immediately and toned it down. “I mean, um. Patrick would love that. We’d love to. We’ll talk about when, work out the details, but I know he- I know he’d love to.”

“Good. That’s good. And you should really meet the kids. Patrick’s their godfather, I don’t know if you knew that, and… uh…”

“Excuse me, can I cut in?” someone asked at Michael’s side—Stevie, somehow still not drunk, with a small smile on her face.

“Yes, yes, have to dance with my best woman, of course. Thank you for the dance, Michael,” David said, pulling away. “And the invitation.”

“Um, I’m cutting _you_ out, loser.” Stevie took Michael’s hand and placed it on her waist, leaving David looking outraged and alarmed behind her.

Michael grinned down at her, and she smirked back.

Slowly, the temperature in the room began to heat up around them.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Stevie either hooks up with Michael or hooks up with Josie, whichever ending you like best. Ugh, trying to keep her in character while also forcing her to have an emotional-ish conversation was tough.
> 
> Thank you to the Rosebuddies for giving me too many good ideas, and specifically to samwhambam for the baseball cake idea and EmuFume for the Rattlesnake Point sketch idea. You're all my heroes <3
> 
> I wrote this sober and edited it drunk. Hopefully it's not a total disaster :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Fit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988337) by [GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)


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